The past few years and months have been a whirlwind of emotions and experiences. First and foremost, I’ve been grappling with feelings of profound grief, as the loss of my mother has left a deep void in my life. In the midst of this sorrow, I found myself reflecting on family dynamics that have long been complicated.

As my mother transitioned in the hospital, a few of us were gathered in the room, while others lingered in the hallway, and I felt that there was a common bond uniting us in our grief. Yet, in my naïveté, I believed this sense of shared loss was genuine. I hoped we all felt the same depth of sorrow, but I soon realized that many were eager to move on. They sought to replace what was lost and spoke ill of you, lacking the understanding and compassion I had expected.

Such behaviors weren’t new; the family dynamics had often been fraught with these attributes, but in my grief, I had foolishly held onto the hope that this time would be different due to the profound impact of the loss we were facing together. Now, I regret allowing certain individuals into that sacred space during your final moments. If I had known the true feelings harbored by some, I would have made different choices, and for that, dear Ma, I am truly sorry.

Ultimately, I wish I had protected that intimate moment more fiercely, reserving it for those of us who genuinely miss you. My brothers and I carry your memory with us, embodying your legacy as we navigate the complexities of our own lives. We are defined by your presence, and when others see us, they catch glimpses of the remarkable, phenomenal woman you were.